The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven novel Chapter 409

Chapter 409: Breathing Between Battles

Meredith.

The forest blurred by the outside, the road stretching ahead like a long dark promise.

Draven was quiet beside me. His gaze was fixed out the window, his face calm but unreadable, the faint glow of the moon casting a silver sheen on the edges of his profile.

Then, without a word, he reached into his coat and pulled out his smartphone.

I blinked, watching him swipe the screen and open his contact list—the faint light reflected in his eyes, sharp and focused.

That small, simple action made me think of my own phone—still in Azul’s possession. I exhaled softly, the sound barely audible over the hum of the tyres.

Suppose I hadn’t seen Draven reach for his, I might not have recalled that I had one of those.

My gaze drifted back to Draven’s phone just as he found the contact he wanted. He pressed the screen, and I caught a glimpse of the name displayed there—Father.

Then, he lifted the phone to his ear.

The faint, steady ring filled the car’s quiet interior, echoing softly in my ears as we sped through the night.

Finally, the call connected, and a deep, familiar voice sounded through the receiver—steady, commanding, seasoned with age and strength.

"Draven."

The tone was curt but not cold. It carried the weight of a father who had waited long enough for this call.

"Father," Draven said, his voice calm and even. "We are returning home."

There was a short pause, heavy with unspoken questions. Then his father’s voice came again, sharper this time.

"So it’s done, then? The war?"

I could hear the suspicion behind the question—the readiness for bad news, or perhaps the disbelief that his son had finished something so monumental without fanfare.

Draven leaned back slightly in his seat, eyes half-lidded. "Yes. It’s done."

That was all he said. There was no elaboration or pride, just quiet finality, like the story behind it wasn’t necessary to tell.

But his father didn’t take that easily. "How did you take down Brackham? What did you do with him and his followers?"

Draven’s lips curved faintly, though his expression didn’t soften. "I will share the rest of the details when we arrive."

A short silence followed immediately after that.

I could almost imagine the older man on the other end of the line, his brow furrowed, his jaw set in restrained impatience.

Then came the audible sigh—a sound that carried both resignation and reluctant acceptance.

Even from where I sat, I could feel it: the quiet understanding between father and son, two men of command who didn’t need to explain everything to be understood.

"Then, when will you arrive?" his father finally asked, his tone measured again.

Draven glanced briefly at the faint horizon ahead, where the black of night had just begun to fade into the barest hint of grey.

"Around seven or eight in the morning."

There was another pause—then a low hum, the sound of satisfaction hidden beneath the old man’s composure.

"I will have everything ready."

"Good." Draven’s tone softened just slightly. "See you soon, Father."

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